In(di)visible
by EpicJellyfish7
Summary: The United States is one nation, indivisible. But the United States are a band of brothers, invisible to the outside world, and they each have their own story to tell. A series of historical vignettes from the fifty personifications of America's states.
1. Florida

This is what came of a sequel idea to "It's Lonely at the Top". I can't promise fifty chapters, because some vignettes features two states or more. It should be around forty or so, and I'm hoping to give each and every one a spotlight. If you're from a state you haven't seen written yet, and you have a cool premise for their chapter, PM me and I'll see if I can make it happen. Updates will be highly irregular, but I haven't abandoned a fic yet, and I don't plan on starting now.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, but I do own my interpretations of my OCs, the states. If you'd like to use my version of any of them, just ask, I'm happy to share.

 _ **La Florida-**_ **Spain's blooming flower.**

England was sweating. His hair was damp and more unruly than normal, heavy clothes stuck to his flushed skin. A dark-skinned girl did her best to fan away the heat, but it refused to yield. The sight made Florida smile.

She made a show of gathering her skirts, tossing her brown hair, unaffected. Let England finally take ownership of her lands. But her hair would not bleach, her skin would not pale, her tongue would not turn. England was sweating. Florida was not.

"I'll leave you to bid farewell, but our ship will depart within the hour." His words were stiff, unapologetic, unlike his drooping, sodden clothes. Florida didn't deign him with a response, gently fanning herself only for spectacle- it was of Spanish design.

One hour left with her now former big brother. His back was still to her, hunched over the table where his signature still dried on the treaty. By every definition, Spain held no claim to her any longer. When he saw her in the lavish ballrooms of Europe, he could no longer sidle up to her and sway in a dance without permission. England's permission. He could no longer freely write her letters that only her eyes would see. England would monitor their every conversation. He could no longer swing from the masthead of his ships in her harbor and regale her with his newest discoveries, his _hermanita_. She was a woman of the court now, England's little sister.

This was his doing, and he knew it.

Spain stood from the desk at long last. The chair scraped against the stone floor in a shrill cry; papers rustled like dead leaves in the wind. His shoulders set back, red robes sweeping and grand, a melancholy smile and dull green eyes like pond scum. An arm extended hastily, raised to wrap around her shoulders, before he realized his mistake and recoiled. Instead, he offered a hand and a respectful bow.

Florida didn't care. There we no eyes watching but theirs. "Oh, _España._ " Spain did not sweat, but he smelled like the sun-baked tomato fields. Warm, tanned arms wrapped around her in her new paisley English dress.

Spain's hold lingered far longer than it had any right to now. "Come," he said, taking her shoulders with callused hands and smiling with watery eyes. "I have one last gift for you."

Florida left the shade of the fort's comforting stone walls, past soldierless ramparts, a flagless monument. Saint Augustine. She could smell the salty Atlantic that bordered her on three sides, that connected them by a great expanse of blue. This fort would remain, the oldest settlement in this New World, for as long as the sun rose to bake it in the summer heat. It had to. The English would come, perhaps the French again to seize her lands, to claim and reclaim what was 'rightfully' theirs, but this fort would remain. Florida swore it to herself. Spain might leave her white, sandy shores to never return, but he would never be buried by time.

Spain led her in the opposite direction of the harbor, beneath a grove of orange trees. Whatever his intended destination, he lingered amongst the trees and snapped off a branch of late blooming white blossoms, sickly sweet and delicately soft. And he smiled.

Florida turned her back to him, closing her eyes as his fingers undid the harsh English bindings of her wild curls, and braided the flowers of _La Florida_ in her tresses. It was messy and uneven, but it was done by Spain's hands. He draped the tapered end over her shoulder and spun her as if dancing to music only attuned to his ears. " _T_ _ú_ _eres b_ _onita_."

Florida grinned and hiked up her skirts. She kicked off her shoes and didn't care if they became fossils beneath the grove. "Race you."

Spain let her win. Florida didn't care. She ripped the laces of her corset and fell back under the shade of the trees, heaving and laughing at the edge of the grove. Her stockings were ripped. Spain began peeling a too-ripe orange, sticky juice spilling down his fingers. Half went to her.

England found the fruit "terribly sour." More for them, in her opinion.

Half their hour must've passed at least, and Spain seemed to realize it. "Come," he said again. "I have one last gift for you."

This time, Spain didn't stop until they reached the stables, evacuated, save for one last stall in the corner. A whinny, a snort. Florida gaped. Spain smiled in self-satisfaction and led her carefully over, still without shoes.

The mare was beautiful, a lipizzaner of the Austrian court. She hadn't quite shaken the grey of her coat, but her mane and tail were white as the snow she'd had yet to see. England would be drowning in it. Florida laughed, stroking her face, scratching under her mane. "What's her name?"

" _Re_ _lámpago_ ," he declared wistfully.

 _Lightning_. A tempest only Florida could contain. England didn't stand a chance. And now, she thought, Spain didn't either. Relámpago whinnied and nuzzled her hand, as if she knew. Florida found herself speaking Arthur's strange tongue suddenly came easy. "I'm going with England today, _Esp_ \- Spain. And though you may fight, you may even win me back with another treaty… this won't ever return. I'm going with England today, but I will not be his colony. Someday soon I will have my independence, and you and he and France will not be able to pass me around the table like a dinner platter. I will be my own nation," she bit her lip, afraid to turn around, afraid to see the heartbreak on his face, but he deserved such respect. "But I will always be your _hermanita_."

Spain did not frown, though tears welled in his eyes. His cheeks flushed, though not of humility. His eyes brightened, just like the sea. "I know."

A bell rang in the distance, their hour was up. Spain smelled of orange blossoms. Florida hugged him as if the toll were for the dead, and he was a ghost bound to slip through her fingers.  
"Let me walk you to the harbor."  
Florida pulled away, her throat constricted and her eyes stung, but she smiled and shook her head. "No, _España._ " Her fingers curled in Relámpago's soft, white mane, an eternal gift from her big brother England could never take away. "This I must do on my own."

*****  
Be prepared, most of these won't be lighthearted.

Florida's my home state, and I've been to St. Augustine. I took some creative liberties with location- I have no idea where this treaty was signed, but the Spanish fort was fitting. Florida was passed between Spain, France, and England a bunch of times, even split in half, before finally becoming part of the US well after we became our own country, and there's still Spanish influence everywhere in the most obscure places as old missions. Tampa has a theatre that looks like a Spanish cathedral on the inside. St. Augustine is the oldest settlement in the United States, and it really is beautiful.

Lipizzaner horses are born black or brown and turn white (almost always) once they mature, and were bred for the Austrian court, performing at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna (which I've also seen). The US doesn't have any, but I thought such a horse would be a fitting departing gift.


	2. Mississippi

I am spectacular at updating on time. If a canonical version of this European character exists already, I'm ignoring it.

Warning for… era-accurate racial slurs, I guess?

* * *

 ** _Ol' Miss- By Valor and Arms_**

The battlefield was silent, and Mississippi was the last man standing. If he could still call himself that. Because right now, backed against a bombed-out tank, heart beating like a hummingbird as he _knew_ there was one Kraut left picking off the wounded, Mississippi didn't feel so much like a man. His papers told his sergeant he was eighteen, his voice told him otherwise. Right now, Mississippi wished he were the age he looked, because then he wouldn't be bleeding out on some random French farm in the European countryside.

One Kraut remained. The battlefield was silent, except for the occasional stumble of combat boots, the wet squelch of a knife. A hero would have cocked his gun, blown his cover, and brought him down. America certainly would have. He might've even won another medal he didn't need. It wasn't that Mississippi was scared of dying- he lead the charge of the South too often. But this war was different. That Kraut wasn't eliminating survivors for a tactical advantage, he acted out of spite and vindication. Once, Mississippi wouldn't have blamed him. Some small part of him agreed: It wasn't Germany's fault.

The boots trailed away. If he knew he was there, the Kraut sure was taking his time. Mississippi wondered if he was the blond-haired, blue-eyed fantasy Hitler imagined for himself. If he was barely of age to enlist. Probably not. Normal soldiers didn't stick around to slaughter the enemy with their bare hands.

Mississippi wasn't scared of dying. He was scared of getting dragged before the SS and being _unable_ to die. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be dead just like his fellow Americans, invisible. But somehow he'd gotten lucky and if the SS figured out who and what he was, neither Germany nor the great Allied Powers would be coming to his rescue.

His hands tightened on the bloody, muddy gun. It was just one kid; man. If he was wounded, he'd probably die anyway out here. Maybe he had a gun, maybe it was out of bullets. Maybe his back was turned and he wouldn't know what hit him.

Or he could shoot himself and take the coward's way out. But _damn you and your hero complex, Dad._ If America was in his position, he'd shoot the Kraut and save the survivors.

Mississippi swallowed bile. Turn. Point. Shoot. That was it. Turn. Point. Shoot. _Turn point shoot. Turn point shoot._

" _Hände hoch!_ "

Mississippi froze. The voice was above him. The damn Kraut had avoided giving himself away with the mud by climbing the tank. He'd known he was there the entire time. Maybe Mississippi was fast enough. All he had to do was point up. _Turn point shoot._ Instead, he complied, numb hands in the air.

" _I-ich erge-erje-_ "

"I speak English." The enemy dropped to the oily mud before him like some Jap ninja, aiming a pistol and an impassive glare. Cold red eyes looked him over, unimpressed. "Name."

"David H. Jones." Louise would call his name unoriginal, uninspired, but then, she went around calling herself _Louisa Lafayette Jones, thank you very much._

The Kraut hesitated, skeptical. "You're a child. They let you enlist?"

Another time, Mississippi would have huffed and stood up for himself. He was probably five times older than him, at least. "What's it matter?"

Of all the things he never thought he'd hear on the battlefield, a ripple of nasally laughter from a German teen was not one of them. " _Mein Gott_ …" He lowered the gun, a crazed gleam in his eye. " _Ich bin Sachsen._ Saxony." He laughed again, jutting his chin. "Which one are you?"

Mississippi gaped. "Saxony. The Province?"

'Saxony' glared. "Kingdom."

In that moment, he was the spitting image of Prussia, and Mississippi didn't know how he missed it. He was Saxony, the last German standing on a French battlefield, probably as old as if not older than the man himself.

Saxony aimed at his face, as if just remembering they were enemies. "I asked which one you are."

Mississippi hoped to Heaven above he could annoy the kingdom into killing him. _I cannot get captured by a German state._

Saxony tilted his head in thought. "Southerner, yes? And not one of the originals. Texas?"

Mississippi glared hotly. "I'm Mississippi you damned Kraut!"

Saxony snorted and holstered his gun. "Original." He pulled a muddied, crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket in offering. Mississippi eyed the smokes, longing for his Camels. Even if it was a trap, Saxony wouldn't be able to fire in time. "Kid, they're not poison."

 _They could be._ Laced with cyanide or something- _actually that would be a convenient way to go out_. But Saxony lit one of his own, uncaring of the rifle still within arms' reach of his enemy, so he accepted. Tension abated, and Mississippi's shoulders relaxed. Saxony dropped down beside him, back against broken treads as if they sat beneath an oak tree having a picnic.

Red eyes glanced his way. "Figured you'd be more... patriotic."

Mississippi flicked the cigarette, still eyeing the gun. "This ain't my war, Kraut." He leaned back, some bolt or gear digging into his spine. "I'm fighting you, but my war's with Japan." The butt almost crumbled between his fingers, ash mixing with the gore on his hands. "Damn Jap picked on the wrong family." Hawaii had thirty-six older brothers armed to the teeth with a bloodlust that would not be quenched until she was avenged. Saxony didn't need to know that, but a tightening of his jaw told Mississippi his enemy knew all too well. But it was gone in a second.

Saxony rolled his eyes, "May your vengeance be just and swift." He shifted and dragged his feet up, holding his gun like a stuffed animal. "I trained your brother, you know. Came 'cross the Atlantic with Prussia. I knew- I _knew_ Japan was a bad idea. You Americans," he said with a dry, raspy chuckle, "You're a dedicated bunch. I knew Japan would be a problem. Now look at us."

Saxony spread his arms as if on a grand stage, daring any unworthy groundlings to defy him. "I don't see Ludwig here on the battlefield. He's got somewhere more important to be. Fighting England somewhere. And I'm stuck here with you." He paused, rolling the cigarette between his teeth. "You got other siblings here?"

Mississippi hesitated, because he couldn't tell him that a ship with his namesake was currently terrorizing the Land of the Rising Sun and Japan was _very much_ a bad idea. "We're all here, 'cept Ginny back home while Dad's away."

Saxony arched a pale, grimy brow, "America's not your brother?"

"To the Thirteen he is. But I wasn't there when all this started. So to me, he's Dad."

He whistled, head back, exposing a soot-stained neck, sweat beading on his skin. "Can't imagine, an entire squadron of forty-something immortal Nations raiding the countryside. That'd be something to see."

Mississippi doubted he should be giving the enemy this information, but, "I ain't seen any of my brothers or sisters since I deployed. Some of us went south, others across the Pacific. We ain't all fighting either."

Saxony nodded, staring at some finite point in the distance. "They'll make it."

He knew that, but just because they couldn't die, didn't mean they couldn't suffer.

Saxony smirked in a way that was oh-so-Prussia. Mississippi knew jack squat about his history, but it made him wonder who came first. "Know how I know?" Saxony took another drag and squinted at that far-off point. "Because you're on my soil. If anyone's not coming out of this war alive, it'll be me." He shook his head, checked his magazine, "Prussia and Ludwig won't miss me," and slammed it back in with cold indifference. "But if I get stuck with France, I'll just do it myself."

Mississippi started, because if his briefing was correct and he hadn't somehow crossed all of Germany without knowing, Saxony's post-war problems would lie with the Soviets, not Francis, and he seemed far too relaxed about that, as if he'd resigned to his inevitable fate. Mississippi found himself oddly comforted, because if their roles were reversed, America wouldn't leave any of them behind. Germany would, at least this Germany, and some small part of him felt they all deserved it. The war may not have been Germany's fault, but everyone got their hands dirty.

"Big Easy Louise… she ain't get no respect from anyone that don't know who she is. You ever feel that way with your Jews? Cause you are, you know, some part of you, probably more than you'd like to admit. How's it feel, Kraut? Cause lemme tell ya, durin our war, I think I shot myself more times than those prissy northerners to make it stop. Now it's your turn, and I hope it hurts."

Saxony snorted, voice low and nasally. "You would have if it happened today. What we're doing? If you fought your war today, I bet you'd be doing the same exact thing. If you had tanks? Mustard gas? You got lucky it was only 1860."

Mississippi glared. "We weren't trying to exterminate our own people."

He shrugged, too relaxed, too confident with his beliefs. "I didn't say that. I just said you'd take full advantage of the arsenal in your pocket. You got lucky."

This wasn't a battle Mississippi was keen on fighting. There were plenty more in the future, so he let it go. "Who do you think's gonna win?"

"No one's gonna win at this point. Maybe it'll just go on forever." He threw his head back again, this time with his eyes closed, finger on the trigger, but not to fire, perhaps just a reflex. In that moment, Mississippi decided Saxony was the older of the two, even if he wasn't. And maybe it was because they were both overshadowed by their nations and Nations, but guilt suddenly made his stomach churn for thinking he deserved it. Punishment yes, but not cruelty. "Saxony,"

The kingdom hummed, peeking one eye open.

Mississippi should not be promising this, he didn't even have the authority to enforce it. "We had Lithuania for a while after last time. Maybe… maybe if you lose, you stay with us."

Saxony sputtered a hoarse laugh, crowing at the grey sky above. "Is that that American Southern Hospitality?"

He sat up and spit the cigarette aside. "Tell you what. I just might take you up on that offer, and if you lose, I'll go easy on you."

Mississippi snorted, cracking a smirk. "We ain't gonna lose."

Saxony mirrored it. "American dedication." He sighed and checked his magazine again, then got to his feet. "We won't get there sitting here."

Suddenly dwarfed by the much older man, Mississippi worried for a moment he'd shoot him, and he'd deserve it for letting his guard down.

Saxony didn't notice or didn't care of the apprehension of his enemy and looked over the battlefield, nodding to himself. "Looks like you won this one."

Everyone except them was dead or dying on both sides. Mississippi firmly disagreed and stated as much.

Saxony shouldered his gun, his other hand hovering by his sidearm just in case. "Winning isn't just about how many are left alive, Mississippi. It's about what you're dying for."

He didn't blame Germany for their vengeance, at least, not all of him did. It wasn't fair, and Europe was paying for that bitter spite one hundred fold. "I think you have the home field advantage for motivation."

"Not anymore." Saxony turned on his heel in the mud. "See you in another life."

He should take him prisoner- should shoot the Kraut who turned his back and take him in for intelligence, but he didn't. Saxony disappeared over the ridge to fight another battle for a country that barely remember he existed.

* * *

Notes:

From what I understand, Mississippi was pretty divided during the Civil War, supplying soldiers to both the Union and the Confederacy. It had only been a state for half a century before it was the second to secede from the US. It was third from last to be readmitted to the Union and the first to begin the "Black Codes". As for WWII, Mississippi and the southern states in general were all apart of the great industrialization wave that swept the nation, and it was one of the largest suppliers and training grounds for soldiers deploying overseas. The _USS Mississippi_ served in both world wars and was one of few that survived it all, playing a huge part in our Pacific war with Japan and the Philippines.


End file.
